I'm Drunk On Lace And Afraid of the Rain
by siriusblackatemybaby
Summary: AU: Alcohol. Yum yum. Snape. Harry. 1985? If you like heartwarming, humorous Snape & Harry bonding fics, you'll like this.
1. How Snowball Decieved Me

Author's Notes: Just so you kids know, I fully plan on completing _I'm Sure You'll Contract My Disease _and eventually, _It Takes Two_.  They're just not holding my attention at the present time and I had to start on something new because I just really wanted to write something.  And write I shall…

Summary: It's that unsatisfying moment mid-morning after a night of too much wine…the steadily increasing ache in your stomach, that knot in your throat, the throbbing of your head, the desire of immobility…but you know if you stay flat on your back, you'll choke on your own vomit. (but really, it's AU, set back when Severus was 23, Harry around the age of 5. The Dursleys are less than satisfactory, so Harry must be removed from their custody. He's put into the custody of the Hogwarts staff…blah blah blah. Same shit you've read so many times before, but unlike my other story, this will take much more time for adjustment, much more humor. Snape needs to find his place as the most fear professor, while Harry needs to find his place as a child. Most likely, the characters will still be very out-of-character because I have problems putting them in character, but we'll see.)

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

I'm Drunk on Lace (and Afraid of the Rain)

****

The roof of my mouth is on fire. It aches. It burns.

It tastes delicious. The slim crystal of my wine glass amuses me: the sparkling, clear liquid rising up, twinkling happily and reflecting in my eyes. It's too early for a headache, too late for sobriety.  Best of all, it's too much to think, too little to pass out. If only life constantly consisted of this dim neutrality, thoughtless and sleepy – with this burning sweetness eternally on the tip of my tongue.

I'm slothful, lying on my side, one arm hanging lazily over the side of the sofa. No one expects this of me and few have seen it. Sometimes I wish I could see it. I wish that my sober self could crawl out of my drunken body and watch me be this utterly pathetic.

Who ever heard of getting drunk alone anyway? It's a skill of alcoholics: to take a whole bottle to your lips and chug, to feel that desire charge down your throat and to your stomach, blackening your liver, lightening your head. And oh dear Merlin, where in your name has my sight gone? The room is blotching black, my lids are slowly slipping over my bloodshot eyes. You don't need to tell me I should just lay here, but I'm irrational and part of me yearns for my soft, sweet bed – to sleep properly, undisturbed. 

I got to my feet, shaky as they are, and took a step.

Then another. 

And another. 

I fall into the wall, clinging to a doorframe to keep myself up.

"Ferfucksake –"

You see, when I slur a series of swears to myself that means I've appropriately given up on my goal. Yes…that just about does it for me for tonight.

I allowed myself to fall.

****

Waking up after a night of drinking has an unpleasant take on all of the senses: all five of them are an individual door to the head. The head, naïve and overly trusting, opens each door to allow pain to seep in. This is why I hate my head. This is why I don't make sense when I'm hung over.

I can smell, feel, and taste my own vomit. This is disgusting in itself, as I am lying in a pool of it. The mere event of this causes me to produce more, which takes it's toll on my mouth, which is burning from the acids of my stomach and the regurgitated alcohol. My cat, delightfully named Snowball (for she is solid black and it's amazingly contradictory to name something so dark after something so pure and white), has taken it upon herself to scratch at my bedroom door. The sound seems to be enhanced due to my sensitive state and the ache in my head turns to a most horrendous throb.

I foolishly left the light on before blacking out, which I would have kicked myself for if I had the energy. For when I opened my eyes, I was greeted with a blinding flash that I could have easily mistaken for the sun. More throbbing ensued.

Good thing it's Sunday. Otherwise I'd have classes to teach right now.

Snowball had something big in her mouth, and she was slowly dragging it towards me.

"Not now, Snowball," I groaned, banging my head into the vomit covered floor. Then, realizing how this act was most unsanitary, I rolled to a non-vomited-covered area of the floor. Snowball persisted, her yellow eyes gleaming. She clawed my robes, dragging her newly found object right underneath my heavy head. I glanced at it. It had numbers and days of the week.

"A calendar?" I asked her. She hissed, placing her paw on a specific square. It was a Monday. "Bloody Hell, you're joking…"

That's when I noticed that Snowball wasn't black. It was also when I realized that Snowball definitely did not have the intelligence to tell me which day of the week it was.

"Professor McGonagall!" I squealed, moving to cover myself, only to realize that I had passed out in my robes. "Oh…"

She leapt into human form, taking the stiff, stern role of my former transfiguration teacher and recently new colleague. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, crossed her arms, and glared down at me. I shuddered.

"How old are you, Severus?" she demanded.

Oh no, not this…anything but the, "you're old enough to know better than to get drunk when you have work in the morning" lecture. Not that I had ever received one of these before. In fact, this would be a first. Maybe it would be interesting?

"23, Professor," I replied.

"Firstly 23 is old enough to know that I am no longer your professor, but your colleague," she snapped, causing my head to throb even more painfully than before.

"Yes, Minerva," I corrected myself.

"Secondly, 23 is old enough to know that you should not waste yourself away the night before you have work," she continued.

"Yes, Minerva," I nodded my head subserviently.

"Thirdly, 23 is old enough to know that you should not drink at all, Severus. It's a most stupid thing to do, foolish and vile. I expected much better of you. You must set a decent example for the students. You cannot," she looked at me venomously, "under any circumstances rampage around the school reeking of alcohol and vomit." She cast a cleaning spell on my floor, and then rounded on me again. "Look what it's done to you, child. You're not even yourself right now. You're being much too respectful." I shrugged. "Now go shower and get dressed. The headmaster wishes to have a word with you about absences." She gave me another reprimanding glare before leaving.

I had nothing to do but obey. I gulped down a vile of headache potion, cleaned myself to entirety, and robed. Professor Dumbledore was a calm, loving, caring headmaster. He would not kill me…this time.

The students looked at me curiously as I walked past them. I had only begun teaching a month ago, and it was rather difficult for me to sink back into the school atmosphere. I hated Hogwarts, really I did. I hated the students, teachers, ghosts, portraits, classrooms, staircases…everything. I hated them all. Yet, there was some sort of solace in the familiarity.  And this time around, I had authority. That was something I was missing as a child: authority. Children were afraid of authority.

"Hey, Professor Snape," a Ravenclaw girl smiled cheerfully at me. "Are you okay? We were wondering where you were…"

But bloody hell, I was the youngest teacher at the school and being the youngest, it's always hard to make people fear you.

"Yes, I'm fine," I replied stiffly. "Shouldn't you be in a class…?" I hadn't the faintest what her name was.

"Edith," she supplied. "And no, Professor, classes are over for the day. It's almost suppertime." She looked confused at my lack of knowledge. "Where were you?"

WHY DID THEY NOT FEAR ME?

"I was ill," I grunted. "Have a nice supper." My stomach reeled at the thought of food.

"Lemon drops are delicious," I sighed out the password(s).

Professor Dumble-er…Albus was sitting at his desk expectantly, his hands clasped before him. The setting sun reflected in his half-moon spectacles. His mouth was twisted slightly into a smile, but at my entrance, his expression grew serious. That's when I knew that I was going to break.

"Severus-" he began.

"I'm sorry, it'll never happen again. I'll be the most brilliant teacher you've ever had, always on time and ready to work. I just lost track of the day, Professor. I'm so very sorry."

Fuck, Minerva was right. Drinking was foolish and personality altering.

Dumbledore gave me an odd look, raising his left eyebrow; he then indicated his head towards the sofa next to me. 

On said sofa, was a very small child of about four, sporting huge circular glasses, which were broken between the lenses and untidy baggy clothing. He also had messy raven hair, which stuck up in all directions…

James Potter. James Potter was alive again, in the form of a small child. Merlin save us all!

My distress must have been evident, for Dumbledore cleared his throat, causing me to snap my head up.

"Severus, this is Harry Potter," he said, smiling at the boy. "We had to remove him from the care of his relatives due to mistreatment."

Mistreatment?

"What? Was his crown not shiny enough?" I grumbled, seething at the way the headmaster looked at the boy: as if he were a great mound of gold, twinkling beautifully in the sunlight.

"Severus…" His tone was stern, so I straightened and feigned innocence. "I want you to look at Harry." I looked at the boy.

"So…"

"Kneel down and look him in the eyes," he ordered. I reluctantly obeyed, kneeling before the legendary Harry Potter. I stared. He stared back. His eyes were big and green, encased in large purple bruises and as I moved to brush away the hair that hid the scar, he cried out and backed away.

"So they beat him," I deadpanned…and though I felt more than a little sympathy, I turned to the headmaster and asked, "What do I care?"

Dumbledore cast a disapproving glance in my direction, before addressing Harry. "Harry, this is Severus. He may look a little frightening, but he'd never hurt you."

I bit the side of my mouth to keep from shouting it outrage. 

"Shouldn't you introduce me as Professor Snape?" I asked.

"Harry needs to feel comfortable. Addressing you formally would only make him less comfortable in his new home."

"New home?" I asked.

"Hogwarts," the old man smiled, gesturing smoothly with his hands to the area encompassing him. "Harry is now in sole custody of Hogwarts and all of its staff. That includes you, Severus."

My stomach lurched.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

**Author's Notes: **Did you like? Would you like more? Again, I promise to continue the others, I just couldn't keep my attention on them. And I know this was short, but it was a start. I have a few original ideas for this exceedingly unoriginal plot, but you know…what can you do? I hope you enjoyed, I hope you will read, and I hope you will review. If you don't review, I probably won't continue, though I might…because it's kind of funny. I laughed to myself, as insane as that is. Anyway, hope you liked. **3**


	2. An Act of Kindness

**I'm Drunk On Lace (And Afraid of Rain)**

Chapter Two: An Act of Kindness 

_______

I will forever mark that day – the day that I woke up thoroughly hung over in a pool of my own vomit; the day that I mistook the wretched Gryffindor Head of House for my faithful black cat, Snowball; the day that I stumbled through the halls of Hogwarts carrying the stale stench of alcohol on my robes; the day that Hogwarts was granted custody of the spawn of that bloody bastard James Potter; the day that I had it all up (once again) on one of the headmaster's plants – as a day of great realization.

I was weary of my life. Nothing went _my_ way. Nothing would ever go _my_ way. 

James Potter was dead; and though that wasn't necessarily something I _celebrated_, I can't _deny_ that I had not felt some sort of spiteful satisfaction that day: when Voldemort was taken out of power, when the tormentor of my childhood was murdered, when I was finally _free_. This, however, did not mean that I owed anything to Harry Potter. No, I will never owe anything to Harry Potter.

Except for that bloody Wizard's Debt. 

Bloody fucking Merlin, bloody well take your own fucking staff and- 

"Severus?"

"What?" I snapped, perfectly content with my knelt position on the floor.

Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, looking purposefully past me and to the flowerpot where a startling amount of my stomach contents had appeared. I blushed, as I was sheepish, and cleaned my mess up with a wave of my wand.

"Should I send you to the hospital wing, Severus?" he asked, his tone laced with knowing. "Perhaps Poppy could find out what ails you?" I grumbled a series of unnecessary and unmentionable swears beneath my breath. "What was that?"

"No, Headmaster. I think it's only a twenty four hour bug," I lied, although lying was pointless.

"Excellent." He clapped his hands together, looking delighted to a nearly obnoxious degree. 

"Excellent?" I groaned, knowing something awful was to come.

"Yes, Severus. Excellent," he smiled and rested an aged hand on my shoulder. "You, my boy, can lead Harry on his very first tour of Hogwarts."

No, I was wrong. It was worse than awful. It was Harry Potter.

I briefly averted my eyes from the headmaster to steal a glance at the small boy on the couch. He had been peering at me curiously over the armrest of the sofa, but when I turned my attention to him, he ducked quickly and fearfully out of my sight. 

This small act of trepidation enticed me. I could taste his uneasiness as clearly as I could taste the twice-regurgitated firewhiskey on my tongue. It was what I _longed_ for- the ability to intimidate. 

Well, the ability to intimidate without having to 'slice and dice' Muggles. I'll admit that was a mistake.

"Harry." Dumbledore turned to the boy, a kind smile on his face. "Would you like Severus to show you around?"

And when Harry Potter looked at me again, I found it within reason to sneak a malicious smile behind the headmaster's back. The child's huge green eyes grew even bigger, his little jaw dropped open, and he huddled close to the couch and out of my sight.

"Oh come now, Harry, he won't hurt you," the old man said soothingly, before turning to me and only a hint more harshly asking, "_will he_, Severus?"

I shook my head, grinning innocently. Of course I wouldn't _hurt_ him. I, Severus Snape, am _above_ hurting small children. Maybe, just maybe, I'd _jokingly_ shove him into a boggart-ridden closet…or even, _playfully_, dangle him by his feet from the Astronomy Tower, but never _hurt_ him.  

"I'm sure we'll have just loads of fun, Professor," I gushed, smirking at his bemused expression. "Me and this little…tyke will see you at dinner." I held out my hand to Harry Potter. "Come on, then, little one. Let me show you the magical school that is-," I gave an appropriate pause, "Hogwarts."

He shakily took my extended hand, allowing me to pull him to his feet. I could feel his fear – in his shaky hand, in his inaudible whimpers. He was so very scared.

_______

The Astronomy Tower was the first trip. I desperately wanted to hang him out of the window. I was _eager_ to hear him scream. _Merlin, I'm sick._

However, on the trek up, I became most disconcerted by the boy's silence. He didn't talk, he didn't cry, he didn't do any of those childish things. He just looked at me with huge bruised eyes, knowing I was going to do something absolutely dreadful to him. The very worst part was that he didn't demand a reason, which significantly took away from my excitement. 

"What's wrong with you?" I snapped.

He jerked his hand out of mine, and backed away slightly. "P-Pardon?"

If possible, his voice was smaller than his stature. I raised an eyebrow.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" I tried again impatiently, snatching his hand back up in my own.  

"I…I d-didn't think you w-wanted me to," he stammered. I sighed and continued upwards, only halting when he finally asked a question. "Am I your punishment?"

How insightful.

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"P'fessor Dumdore…" he horribly butchered the headmaster's name, "…said that you were naughty last night and…" He stopped abruptly and I realized that I was glowering rather hideously.

"Go on," I growled.

"…H-he said that you didn't go to your classes."

 The headmaster had told the child about my ineptness? How absolutely foul of him!

"He told you this?" I seethed. The boy looked to the ground. "He didn't tell you this," I stated. "How'd you know?"

"He told the cat about it right in front of me. I couldn't help but hear!" he said defensively.

"The…cat?" I asked, my anger momentarily replaced by puzzlement. "Oh. McGonagall." I rolled my eyes. "Yes, well, I suppose you _are _my punishment." 

"I'm sorry," the boy apologized. "I'm a lot of people's punishments. Uncle Vernon said so."

I didn't reply. I didn't really know how to reply. It's not like he was the only one. _I _was a lot of people's punishments, too.  Just because I wasn't four years old and had two black eyes…well, that didn't mean he was any less of a sad case than I was. He didn't wake up in a pool of his own vomit. When that kid puked in one of the headmaster's flowerpots, he'd have the right to talk.

"This is the Astronomy Tower," I said dully. I pointed to the window. "I _was_ going to dangle you by your ankles out of that window, but now you've just gone and ruined it for me." 

Something about the boy lit up at that moment: his eyes brightened, his hand grew tighter around mine. Another thing inside of me dimmed considerably. I had made a mistake. I had shown Harry Potter an act of kindness by _not_ doing something dreadful to him.  

Bloody fucking Merlin, bloody well take your own fucking staff and- 

_______

**Author's Notes**: Sorry, I had the urge. The next time I update, it **will** be _I'm Sure You'll Contract My Disease_. I promise. A note to a random, spamming reviewer who anonymously signed as "Borg": of course it's unoriginal. It's meant to be. Thank you for your insight. That will be all. 


	3. The Problem With Pumpkin Juice

Chapter Three: Pumpkin Juice  
  
When I strode into the Great Hall that evening, I was not expecting the startled and surprised eyes of every single student at Hogwarts to be trained on me. I stopped abruptly as a wind of insecurity brushed by me. Harry Potter squeezed my hand and tried his best to hide within my robes.  
  
I looked from side to side, not moving my head an inch. I hear if you're anything less than completely still, they'll attack.  
  
"Cute kid, Professor!" one of the students yelled. A murmur of approval followed.  
  
Professor Dumbledore winked and gave me a thumbs up from the faculty table. I wasn't sure what this inane gesture meant, or what the insufferable old man was getting at, but it infuriated me. I scowled and dragged the boy up to the head table, attempting to ignore the curious chatter of the students.  
  
"Too much attention, Severus?" Professor McGonagall asked teasingly. I glared.  
  
"You can take. . . this now," I spat, relinquishing Harry Potter's hand to the transfiguration professor. "He's seen the Astronomy Tower."  
  
"Ah," she smiled down at the boy. "Did you like the Astronomy Tower, Harry?"  
  
The boy nodded his head vigorously. "It was really high! And Severus didn't even swing me by my-"  
  
I slapped my hand over the boy's mouth, and flashed my old professor an award-winning smile. It wouldn't do well to get sacked a month into the job for threatening the savior of the wizarding world.  
  
McGonagall, however, raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "What did you do, young man?"  
  
I blushed.. "Erm...nothing. Young Mr. Potter here was just talking about a little joke we had, weren't you?" I nudged the child, who was looking at me with an odd expression. I took my hand away as he nodded.  
  
"It was just a little joke," he repeated shyly, retreating into my robes again. I felt him hug my leg and couldn't stop the feeling of foreboding.  
  
"Potter, why don't you sit with Professor McGonagall during supper?" I asked, gently guiding him out of my robes and giving him a shove in the direction of the woman. "Become acquainted."  
  
"B-but-" I picked him up and set him on McGonagall's lap.  
  
"That's a good lad," I cut him off, already on my way to the other side of the table. I plopped down next to Dumbledore and helped myself to mashed potatoes without so much as a greeting.  
  
"I'm happy to see you and Harry getting along, Severus," the headmaster smiled. "He seems to have become rather attached to you."  
  
I glanced at the boy, who was now sitting in his own chair next to McGonagall. He was already looking at me hopefully.  
  
"Bloody Potter," I growled, my mouth full of my mashed potatoes.  
  
"Swallow before speaking, Severus," Professor Sprout advised. I think she takes her profession a bit too seriously, as she isn't so much as looking at the meat. Her plate is full of vegetables.  
  
I snatched up my goblet, holding the woman with a glare while doing so. When the taste of pumpkin juice entered my mouth, I couldn't help but spit it all back out, causing the headmaster to look at me in surprise.  
  
"Severus, you're a wizard. You went to this school for seven years. You're used to the taste of pumpkin juice," he reminded me.  
  
"I always have wine at dinner," I replied. I looked around the table suspiciously. "All of you have wine. Why do I have pumpkin juice?" I looked at Potter, who was still looking at me as if I were a godsend. "Does Potter have wine?"  
  
"Of course not, Severus," McGonagall snapped. "Don't be ridiculous. He has pumpkin juice just like you."  
  
For some reason, that statement made me even more furious.  
  
"Why do I have to have pumpkin juice like Potter? I'm not a child!" I caught my own whiny tone and cleared my throat. "I mean...why do I suddenly have pumpkin juice? Why won't anyone answer my question?" I looked to Dumbledore expectantly.  
  
"Why do you think, Severus." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. . . and he said it so goddamned matter-of-factly.  
  
I grumbled more unneccessary and unmentionable swears beneath my breath.  
  
"What was that, Severus?" he asked sharply.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
I gulped down my remaining pumpkin juice and got to my feet. "I'm going to my dungeons," I announced importantly (after all, I am important). "I'll see you all in the morning."  
  
It had been a trying day. I needed some firewhiskey.  
  
***  
  
I'm not entirely sure what it was that drove me to do it. Maybe it was defiance; perhaps it was indignation. Anger, definitely anger. I would describe it in harsher terms, though...such as rage, or even ire.  
  
Whatever the cause, I'll willfully admit that it was regrettable. I might as well have killed another Muggle, as at least a homicidal act would not incite such deplorable humiliation.  
  
"SEVERUS SNAPE!"  
  
The fury of Minerva McGonagall's admonishment was only strengthened by the pain it brought me. She hollered at me in front of the whole school: the faculty, the students, the ghosts. . .  
  
"Of all the foolish. . . you reek of it! Your eyes are bloodshot! You're still completely inebriated! What do you think you're doing? No, don't open your mouth. Do not answer." I would have snapped my mouth shut if it had actually been open. She was so infuriated, she was ahead of herself. "You will listen to me. You will NEVER do this again. Do you understand me? If you have one spot of sense in you, you'll go to your chambers this instant and throw out every ounce of alcohol in your possession. . . "  
  
It went on like that for some time. Whenever I looked to Professor Dumbledore for help, he bit his lip and looked to the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall as if he'd never seen the sky before. Whenever I would look past McGonagall's looming figure, I'd see the students at their respective tables, hiding their giggles behind their hands. Of course these glances came at the price of "You will look at me when I'm talking to you!", but I chanced it.  
  
I don't know what she was angrier about, the fact that I was drunk or the fact that while I was in my earlier stages of drinking, I'd shared with house prefects. I thought it was the perfect revenge: ruining the image of the perfect prefect.  
  
When she stopped for a moment to catch her breath, I asked, "So. . .will I be sacked?"  
  
She just stared at me for some time, breathing heavily, her face red from yelling. "As much as I think you deserve to be fired, the headmaster has a more lenient, if not more appropriate punishment in mind. Despite the fact that you shared alcohol with minors. . ." she grumbled on, so I tuned out again.  
  
After the older transfiguration professor had finally taken her seat and rather furiously tucked into her food., I looked to the Headmaster expectantly.  
  
***  
  
"I can't believe this is happening," I growled, setting Harry Potter on the dungeon floor. "I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is happening..."  
  
"Professor Snape?" Bill Weasley asked. "Are you okay?"  
  
I arched an eyebrow at the 5th year redheaded Gryffindor prefect. He had consumed about a shot.  
  
"That was pretty harsh, being yelled at in front of the entire school like that," he continued. "My mum sent me a howler once in second year because my grade in Herbology wasn't all it should have been. It was sort of like that."  
  
Right. It had been a far bigger mistake than I had thought. Now they thought I was their friend.  
  
"Well, thank you for you concern, Mr. Weasley-" I began, my voiced laced with venom.  
  
"Be nice, Severus," Harry Potter ordered, poking my leg with his finger.  
  
Bill Weasley looked at the boy wide-eyed and then looked back to me. I bit my tongue and attempted to control myself. In a calmer tone, I continued. "Although I am grateful for your regard, Mr. Weasley, I assure you that my situation is far different from such an insipid 2nd year-"  
  
Harry Potter pinched my calf.  
  
"...your relation to my circumstances this morning is completely relevant and I must say that I am substantially more cheerful due to your compassion." I think the fabrication that was my smile scared the boy, for he merely nodded respectfully and scampered off.  
  
I turned to little Harry Potter, who was grinning at me sheepishly.  
  
"You just weren't very nice, Severus," he said, leaning against my leg. "'Albus told me to tell you off when I thought you were being naughty. 'Nerva told me to pinch you."  
  
Yes, this had been Albus's appropriately lenient punishment. Harry Potter had been promoted to the position of my babysitter.  
  
"I'm sorry," the boy sulked.. "I don't know why you were told off this morning, but it must have been really bad. I don't want you to be mad at me. I have to. Albus and 'Nerva said I have to."  
  
I rolled my eyes and patted the boy lightly on the head. It was going to be a long day.  
  
***  
  
"You! What are you doing? The scales should go in AFTER the eyes. You fool! Your potion is supposed to be blue, not brown. Of all the-" I stopped abruptly when the first year burst into tears.  
  
Harry Potter tugged on my robe and shook his head.  
  
"Say you're sorry," he demanded, staring me down while pointing to the boy.  
  
'You ridiculous, little-ow!"  
  
Harry Potter had pinched me again.  
  
"Say you're sorry," he repeated firmly, determination set on his little face.  
  
The children stared at me in horror. All was silent apart from the boiling cauldrons.  
  
First the morning scolding, now this. Out of the two, I'd say this the more humiliating.  
  
"I'm sorry," I growled. "Don't screw up ag-ow!" I gritted my teeth. "Try better next time."  
  
Yes. This was much worse.  
  
***  
  
"I'm sorry, Severus," Harry Potter said for the tenth time. "You have to understand that I don't have a choice. Albus and 'Nerva-"  
  
"Are insufferable," I interrupted.  
  
"What's that mean?"  
  
"It means that they're great," I said. 'Amazing and brilliant."  
  
He looked at me suspiciously, but didn't question. Good lad.  
  
That night at supper, I drank my pumpkin juice without complaint. 


	4. The Spawn of My Enemy

I'm Drunk On Lace and Afraid of The Rain Chapter Four - The Spawn Of My Enemy  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Se...Severus?"  
  
I tried to ignore the small voice that pleaded for my attention as I moved the meat around on my plate, taking turns between stabbing it and dramatically impaling it into my mashed potatoes. I had discovered that food was quite fun even when you had no appetite.  
  
"Severus?" the little voice inquired again.  
  
I lifted the slab with my fork and violently smashed it into a multitude of green beans, sending green debris flying across the table. Unfortunately, the green bean discard destination happened to be the eyeglasses of one Minerva McGonagall.  
  
"Severus," Harry Potter whispered, poking my side.  
  
"SEVERUS," Minerva ground out.  
  
"Severus, my boy!" Professor Dumbledore cheerfully interjected. A moment of silence ensued and at the alienated stares of the staff, (and the scathing look of Minerva), the eccentric old man added, "Erm, perhaps you should eat your food rather than play with it, Severus. You're setting a rather crude example for young Harry."  
  
If looks could kill, McGonagall would have offed me quite some time ago. I had the grace to duck my head and shove the piece of meat in my mouth.  
  
"Severus," the unrelenting little bastard tried once more.  
  
"What?" I snapped, flashing him a delectable view of my half-masticated meal. To my satisfaction, he cringed and slumped into his chair, looking thoroughly defeated.  
  
"Severus..." McGonagall warned., looking pointedly at the boy.  
  
I sighed, dropped my fork noisily to my plate, and slumped into my own chair. "I meant...what can I do for you, Harry?"  
  
The boy's eyes widened and I could barely contain myself from screaming at the irony when he gazed at me with unadulterated adoration. I glared impatiently back, until he crooked his index finger, gesturing me to lean over. "Will you take me to the bathroom?"  
  
Oh, THIS was rich.  
  
"Fine," I grumbled, rising to my feet and plucking the child out of his chair. "Lovely meal. Send my regards to the house elves," I sneered at my colleagues, shifting the annoying child into a more comfortable position in my arms.  
  
"He's yours tonight, Severus," the insufferable old headmaster reminded me. "Treat him well."  
  
"Right," I muttered, striding purposefully and rapidly out of the Great Hall. The boy was beginning to squirm and I must say that I was not intrigued by the idea of Harry Potter pissing on me.  
  
"Down, down!" he squealed when we reached the nearest bathroom, running quickly into a stall as soon I half-set him/ half-dropped him to the ground. I waited for what must have been five minutes after hearing him relieve himself.  
  
"If you're quite done-"I started, raising my wand to open the door.  
  
I stopped abruptly when I heard the childish sobs coming from inside. The spawn of James Potter was SOBBING in a stall of the boys' bathroom. I retract my earlier statement...THIS was RICH.  
  
"What's wrong?" I demanded.  
  
"N-nothing!" he choked.  
  
"Come out here," I said. "I don't feel like spending the night in this bloody bathroom."  
  
"N...no," he eventually managed. "I can't. You'll be angry."  
  
I sighed. Although I loathe to admit it, the sound of his small, quavering voice tugged at my heartstrings. Heartstrings! This was just too much.  
  
"I won't be angry," I sighed.  
  
"Y-you won't?"he asked.  
  
"I won't," I repeated.  
  
"You promise?" At the sound of my snort, he exclaimed, "Severus! You HAVE to promise!"  
  
"Whatever. I promise," I grumbled. At his hesitant silence, I lightheartedly added, "Now get your little bum out here before I'm forced to subject the mirrors to my inner hostilities." "SEVERUS!" he cried.  
  
Well...I thought it was lighthearted, anyway.  
  
He slowly opened the door and with a bowed head, walked out. It was just as I had suspected - his little trousers were soaked with urine. By the messy stall he left in his wake, I assumed that he had been attempting to dry himself off in those additional minutes.  
  
"Merlin, why did you wait so long?" I asked.  
  
"You wouldn't pay attention to me!" he replied defensively.  
  
I grinned. "Oh, yeah." I really had been brilliant at supper that night - while inadvertently assaulting Minerva with green beans, I had also managed to completely ignore Harry Potter's apparent distress.  
  
That's when it happened - Harry Potter started to cry again.  
  
At the sight of those huge tears running down his little face, I wanted to break all the mirrors in the bathroom. Instead, I reluctantly extended my hand and said, "Right. Let's go get you cleaned up then."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Am I correct in assuming that you can bathe yourself?"  
  
Please say yes, please say yes...  
  
"I think so," the boy said shyly, watching as I drew his bath.  
  
"Good," I said, sticking my elbow in the water to check the temperature. Once satisfied with its warmth, I added, "I'll be in the living room. Don't drown."  
  
After leaving the boy to his devices, I fled to the living room and checked underneath the sofa cushions, sighing in relief when I felt the cool glass of the heavy bottle against my palm.  
  
"Thank Merlin," I murmured. Babysitting Harry Potter until the next morning was too trying a task to accomplish without the sweet helpfulness of firewhiskey. I uncorked the bottle as quietly and quickly as I could; brought the mouth to my lips; and sank into the deep, intoxicating kiss of my one true love: alcohol.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
The boy was staring at me in fear; naked, wet and trembling.  
  
"...Harry?"  
  
"You d-didn't leave me a t-towel," he stuttered, backing against the wall.  
  
"Right. Sorry," I muttered, getting up to retrieve a towel from the bathroom- but when I attempted to wrap it around him, he flinched violently and cried out. "What in the bloody hell's wrong with you?" I asked curiously.  
  
"Y-your....drinking the bad stuff," he whimpered. "Y-you'll...hurt me..."  
  
I raised an eyebrow. Hurt him? Alcohol is a savior! Not a poison!  
  
"Hey, look at me," I said to his downcast eyes. When he raised the gaze, I sighed and said, "If I didn't dangle you by your ankles out of the Astronomy Tower, there's no way in Hell I'll overexert myself in the act of beating you." I held out my hand, which he hesitantly took.  
  
After leading him to the couch, I set the spawn of my enemy upon my lap and placed the bottle of firewhiskey in his hands. "Have a taste."  
  
I must be insane.  
  
"B-but..."  
  
"Just a sip," I said.  
  
He had a taste...a taste that was immediately spat back out on my hand.  
  
"Gross!" he wrinkled up his face and looked up at me. "Severus, you shouldn't drink this. It's bad for you and it tastes bad."  
  
"What do you know..." I grumbled, snatching my firewhiskey back possessively. To think, I let the unappreciative little wretch drink from my beloved...  
  
"Uncle Vernon drank it," the boy replied, his eyes welling up for the millionth time that day. "It made him hate magic even more."  
  
Bloody Hell....  
  
I groaned inwardly, feeling him begin to shake on my lap. This was too much. Why did I have to deal with a traumatized child? Why ME? All I wanted to do was drink my firewhiskey and make my potions and be known universally as "bad news". But no...I haven't even accomplished THAT yet.  
  
"Fine," I snapped. "Don't bloody cry." I picked him up with one arm, walked to the kitchen, and poured my love down the drain. "See? All gone."  
  
The boy broke into a wide smile and threw his arms around my neck.  
  
"All gone," he chirped happily.  
  
"All gone," I repeated, hastily attempting to blink away my tears. 


End file.
